


Scourge of the Past

by PurpleArrowzandLeather



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Alfred Pennyworth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 04:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20886374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleArrowzandLeather/pseuds/PurpleArrowzandLeather
Summary: Bruce Wayne realizes that the person he loves is hiding behind the mask of the Red Hood. His reaction leaves Jason speechless.





	Scourge of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. I just needed a little of Bruce being a good parent again. That happens a lot.

It had been a long night already when Dick came home and said he had information on a new player in Gotham’s underworld. Of course, Dick doesn’t really consider the manor home at the moment, but it doesn’t change the way Bruce views it. Because he’s too stubborn, Bruce won’t tell him that he misses his son. 

The way Dick looks at him sometimes.... He thinks his son misses him too. 

Bruce scowls to himself where he sits in front of the Batcomputer. He never had the heart to change anything Dick named in the cave. Bruce never had the strength to let go of something so innocent, and now his son is stuck in the vigilante life with him. 

Bruce wonders sometimes if this life doesn’t weigh on him. 

“Bruce?” 

He looks up at his son, the boy (young man) standing next to his chair. Bruce softens on him, smiling warmly for what must be the first time in weeks. Dick’s smile in response is blinding. 

“What is it?” 

“Our guy has been busy. The criminals are keeping it hush hush, but I’ve picked up a few communications that someone has been taking over the mob.” 

“How long has he been in town?” 

Dick shrugs, typing a couple things into the computer and gesturing to the screen. “Far as I can tell? Six hours, maybe. He’s left a few bodies in his wake, all of them missing their heads.” 

The statement finally draws Bruce’s attention from his son to the monitor. Crime scene photos line the screen, blood pooled under the ground beneath them. They were clean kills. No defensive wounds and no outward signs of a struggle. They never saw the killer coming, or at least, that’s what it looks like. Whoever this guy is.... He’s efficient. 

“When were these taken?” 

“Four hours ago. All eight victims were killed in the same two-hour time frame.” 

Bruce pulls up the autopsy reports from the morgue records, the backdoor in their system a little gift from Tim. Bruce will never not be grateful for that boy. He’s on patrol by himself right now, and as much as Bruce hates it, he can’t stop him. 

“There’s no bruising.” Dick mutters. “Do you think they knew their attacker?” 

Bruce shakes his head. “This was cold. Impersonal. They weren’t killed because of a vendetta, but because of who they were. All of these men have ties to the mob as high-ranking members. Possibly lieutenants, but they’ve remained mostly in the dark. This....” Bruce notes the almost surgical precision of the slices on their necks. Whatever blade was used, the new player has training. “This was done to prove a point. It’s a threat, and a foothold for new leadership.” 

Dick runs a hand through his shaggy hair, looking through various reports on the tablet Tim left behind. “Whoever he is, he certainly knows what he’s doing.” 

“Call Tim. Have him come in from the field just until we figure out what the situation is. I don’t want him out on the streets alone with this guy.” 

“He might not listen. You know how he gets.” 

_ Unfortunately, he gets like me. _

“Then send him a code red. We don’t have time for arguing. If we don’t figure out how to stop this now, it’ll be out of our hands by morning. This new hitter is too well-trained to stop in the middle of waging a one-man war.” 

Dick only hesitates a moment before opening a comm line to his little brother. 

Bruce focuses on tracking down the new player, combing surveillance footage for any sign of him. There’s nothing useful. It doesn’t bode well, but it does give him insight into the man’s mind. He’s going big, but leaving only whispers behind. See, but don’t be seen. 

Become a ghost. 

He recognizes League methods when he’s faced with them. 

Go for places of power. Unsettling the hierarchy will open up room for a transition and the foundation of new structure. Taking out lieutenants might even bring together the drug kingpins they work for, which would leave them vulnerable. They’d be easy to find, and those who won’t conform would be put down in favor of fresh hands. Fresh blood. 

Become a nightmare. 

Bruce notes the intelligence in this man’s actions. The theatricality and the power. Having trained with the League, he supposes there’s room for similarities. 

Tim rolls into the cave on his motorcycle, looking rather harried. “Bruce, what’s the situation? Where’s the...” He takes in Bruce sitting calmly at the station and Dick leaned against the edge of the table. “...fire.” 

“We have a contender to the mob on the streets. He’s dropping bodies and showing no mercy.” Bruce pauses at Tim’s glare, having been pulled from patrol on a code red for one guy putting him in a rather sour mood. “I didn’t want you out there.” 

Tim softens, but he’s still recalcitrant. Too much like Bruce, not enough like Alfred. “Fill me in.” 

It takes all five minutes for Tim to understand why exactly it was that Bruce called him in from the field. It’s there in the set of Bruce’s jaw and the way that his eyes sweep over Tim’s frame even though he’s completely fine. 

It’s not an ‘I love you and I want to keep you safe’, but it’s close enough. 

Tim can’t help but wonder how many times Bruce looked at him like that and he brushed it off as stubbornness and control issues. How many subtleties had they all missed? 

Before Tim can ask what Bruce wants him to do, and alert goes off down by the docks. Reports of a couple shady characters stealing a few shipping crates and the like make it clear something is being put into motion. Bruce’s first guess would be guns, or maybe drugs, but he’s been wrong before. 

To guess would break one of their most important rules. Never assume. 

He doesn’t know what it is about their mystery man, but a sense of foreboding has settled into his chest. Something tells him that this resurgence means a reckoning. 

On the road to the docks, Bruce talks to Dick and Tim over comms, their observations leading him closer to the situation and keeping him on point. When Dick’s link opens up, Bruce is certain he hears wind noise. He’s following Bruce, even though he told both of them to stay in the cave. 

That worries him more than he’ll ever say. 

That being said, backup isn’t always a bad thing, and he knows for certain that Dick can take care of himself. 

“_They’re moving to the west._” Tim says. 

“Got it.” 

Upon arrival at the docks, Bruce leaps from the Batmobile, grappling up to a crane and scanning for the targets. Catching them is almost pitifully easy, but it’s the interrogation that has Bruce intrigued. 

Dick clears his throat from afar, letting Bruce know that he’s ready to jump in if necessary. “_Eyes in the sky, B.”_

Bruce keeps himself from acknowledging him, trying not to give him away. “Who are you working for?” 

The men, strung up by their ankles with blood running to their heads, tell him that they don’t know. Bruce beats an answer out of them. 

“The Red Hood!” 

Bruce doesn’t get anything else out of them before bullets tear through their chests. Bruce rolls behind the nearest crate for cover, radioing over to Dick and warning him of a sniper. Bruce scans the men, all of their vitals coming back negative. Peeking over the ridge of the crate, he searches for the gunman, calling in the jet overhead and pursuing the man. 

Tim warns him that the Hood has stolen a vehicle. 

Even as quickly as the suspect flees, he doesn’t get away. The vehicle ends up crashed and Dick joins the chase on foot. 

Bruce grapples to the roof. “I’ll go high. You stay on the ground in case he tries to go to ground.” 

Dick confirms the order, taking off through the alleys and swinging over the busy roads. Gotham is stupidly active at night. 

Bruce keeps a lock on the man ahead of him, but he’s glad for Tim working the cameras every time he turns a corner. The person he’s chasing is slippery, and really, it’s a shock that he’s able to move so well. Most people who flee from Batman on the rooftops are unfamiliar with where they’re running. This man seems to know exactly where he’s going. 

He’s run these rooftops many times before. Bruce can see it plainly in the way that his steps avoid subtle shifts in the slope of the roof and move skillfully around small obstacles like vents and clothes lines. He knows Gotham very, very well. Almost as well as Bruce, if not better. The way he moves is almost... familiar. 

Even just chasing him around on top of the buildings, Bruce learns little things about him. He’s tall, just over six feet, but not quite Bruce’s height. By his footstep in someone’s roof garden, his shoes are a size twelve men’s combat boot. He’s highly trained, and if Bruce isn’t mistaken, he wants to be followed. 

The man is fast, strong and agile, ready for the leap between buildings before he’s even made it. By the way his shoulders bow inwards as he crashes through a window, he’s almost as broad there as Bruce is. 

Bruce catches him for a moment, landing a blow on his chest to daze him. His first mistake was entering close quarters. His second was getting too near to Bruce’s hands. 

More quickly than Bruce would expect, a knee flies into his ribs and the man is running again. He swings back the way they came, only to run straight into Dick. A blow from Dick’s escrima stick puts him on the ground but he recovers, his helmet taking the brunt of it. He manages to push Dick onto his back before Bruce has a chance to jump into the fight and he flees. 

He knows better than to be caught between the two of them, but that’s any criminal, really. 

The rooftop chase continues, and before Bruce realizes what’s going on, he’s panting. The suspect's stamina appears to be endless, but Bruce is certain that he can hear the man breathing hard ahead of him. 

To throw Bruce off the trail, he takes a detour through a construction zone, shooting at flammable substances, but always too far ahead of Bruce to do any damage. He doesn’t want to fight, but he also doesn’t want a clean escape. 

At one point, the man falls down a level in the building, a weak area crumbling beneath him. The unfinished floor below him doesn’t fare any better. He topples, crashing down hard onto his side two floors below. Bruce carefully makes his way down, still wary of the man wheezing on the ground. He pushes himself to his hands and knees, coughing as he tries to get his second wind. 

He’s piqued Bruce interest, so he can’t help but ask, “Who are you?” 

His only answer is that same wheezing cough. 

Bruce, already tired of waiting, kicks him over and demands to know what he’s doing in Gotham. He’s laughed at for his trouble as the man lies there on his back. 

“Be gentle with me, old man. Wouldn’t w-want to break me.” 

“You’ll live.” Bruce growls. 

The Red Hood scoffs. “T-they always do, don’t they?” 

He’s mocking Bruce. Whoever he is, he blames Batman for something and he’s mocking Bruce for something he considers a weakness. That provides some insight. Maybe this person is someone he couldn’t save. 

Bruce swings a boot into the Hood’s ribs, taking his breath away a second time. “Why are you taking over Gotham’s underworld?” 

The man coughs, rolling onto his side. Bruce can’t see what he slides from his pocket, only that he reaches for something. He hears the light ‘_shink__’ _of a pin being pulled and he dives for the floor. The explosion that follows gives the Red Hood time to get away from Bruce. 

Dick shows up right after, panting and already too late. “He took something out of my grappling gun. Wouldn’t fire.” 

“Red Robin, do you have him on cameras?” 

“_He’s headed west over the rise. Looks like he’s headed for the slums.” _

“Path to intercept?” 

Tim taps away on the other side for a few seconds. “_You can cut him off along 48th and Hatchet.” _

Bruce and Dick move as quickly as they can, overtaking the Hood right where Tim said they would. He looks a little surprised to see them. 

“Huh. Thought I’d given you two monkeys the slip.” 

Bruce reengages, but the man is ready. He evades Dick, grappling up to the closest rooftop and saluting them both. It’s like he knows how they’re going to attack him. 

Bruce is trying really hard not to let his building theory distract him. 

Finally, they reach the train station, the Hood’s first plan apparently discarded or maybe not having existed at all. Dick and Bruce gain on him, but Bruce spots something along the wall. 

“_Bomb! Get down!” _

It goes off. Bruce looks up just in time to see the Red Hood kick-start a motorcycle and wave at him. A train thunders towards them all, but he has some parting words for the two vigilantes. “I see time hasn’t dulled your edge, B-” 

The train rolls by and Bruce drags his son up to pull him away from the tracks. They hit the ground harder than Bruce wanted to. 

“Are you all right?” 

“Get after him, Batman! I’ll be fine.” 

Bruce pulls him from the tracks, shaking his head. “He’s long gone by now. Answer the question.” 

Dick sits up, seemingly fine until he has to clutch his arm to his side. Bruce helps him to his feet, making a makeshift sling out of a few things from his utility belt and taking him home. 

Dick sits on the edge of an infirmary bed now, dressed in a thin shirt and sweats. “You didn’t have to patch me up yourself.” 

Getting him out of his armor had been a hassle. 

Bruce gives him a look from over by the infirmary cabinet, pulling out a bottle of pills and a light sling that shouldn’t inhibit him too much. “Alfred has other things to tend to, and Tim is taking a well-deserved nap. Letting you tend to yourself is an accident waiting to happen.” 

“I resent that.” 

“I’m sure you do, Dick.” 

“It’s just a sprain. I don’t need a sling.” 

Bruce sighs, noting that he doesn’t fight him on it as he adjusts the straps. “It may be just a sprain, but there’s no need to chance making it worse. I don’t want to have to wonder.” 

Dick gives him a long look. “Is something wrong?” 

It’s no surprise that Dick would notice something was off. 

Bruce shakes his head, knowing that Dick will still be suspicious. “No. Just go on upstairs and get some rest. I’ll come and check on you soon.” 

“Are you going to try to find him?” 

Bruce glances at the computer, noting that nothing has really changed in the last few minutes. Tim's software is doing what it can. 

“No. It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. I just need to shut a few things down.” 

Dick makes a face, but he does as he’s told. Apparently, Bruce isn’t the only one with reservations about what’s happening on the streets now. 

Throughout the day, Bruce keeps an eye on the news even though he’s certain the Hood’s work won’t be shown. Wayne Enterprises is running along smoothly enough that Bruce has time to do some investigating. With only the things he learned the night before, he has little to go on. 

There are so many pieces of information that mean nothing and also narrow down the suspect list. 

One of the things Bruce noticed was the way he carried himself. He used every inch of his height for intimidation, but he also knew the value of appearing bigger than he was. It’s one of the oldest tricks in Batman’s playbook. No one can give an accurate description of the Batman’s height because he appears larger than life. He always uses the cape to shield discernable features. He never lets anyone stand too close. 

Except Jim. Bruce is pretty certain that Jim knows. 

Of course, Bruce has his suspicions. He wouldn’t be a good detective if he didn’t. The problem with his suspicions is that he wants to deny that they’re even possible. 

It would be just like Ra’s.... 

No. 

Not until the truth presents itself. 

All of his kids have told him on at least one occasion that his real superpower is denial. Sometimes, he thinks that they may be right. He would say it’s impossible for someone to come back from the dead, but he’s seen too much by now to let death fool him. 

Ra’s proves it simply be being alive all this time. 

Suffice it to say, it has to be one of the least productive days at WE in a long time. 

Thankfully, it leads him to his patrol that night and he almost immediately gets a location from Tim’s surveillance program. He also plays back the recording of the night before and found that their mysterious player knew his name. The Red Hood knew, and he wanted Bruce to come find him. 

He’s being attacked when Bruce arrives, which honestly isn’t a surprise. Dealing with the Red Hood is kind of a pain in the ass, and Bruce only just met the guy last night. 

It only aids Bruce in confirming his theory. 

It looks like the Hood is having a rough minute, assassins on either side of them with swords. One is holding a jump line, readying it to catch him when he’s distracted. Bruce watches for a moment, keeping an open mind as he studies the way the other man moves. 

Bruce hates the idea with every thread of his soul, but... Jason fits the bill. At least, Jason would if he hadn’t been malnourished as a child and grew up tall. 

He comes back to attention as the Red Hood yelps, being jerked around in a circle and knocked onto his back. His chest heaves and he’s clearly not doing so well in the breathing category. A couple of ribs must be cracked. One of the assassins with a sword places the tip on his sternum, keeping him down with the threat. 

Bruce leaps. 

If it is Jason, he can’t risk losing him again. Even if it’s not, he’s not going to stand idly by while assassins skewer someone right in front of him. 

Bruce takes down three of them, the last one coming up into his blind spot until the Red Hood pops him in the head. 

Bruce whirls. “You killed him.” 

“_Before_ he could kill you. You’re welcome, old man.” 

He stops in his tracks, staring at the man on the ground for a long few moments. The Red Hood stares back before letting his head drop and curling up a little. 

“It certainly took you long enough.” he grumbles. 

“Had to figure out whose side I was on.” 

The Hood picks himself up, keeping a protective hand over his left side and gesturing to the dead assassin with his gun. “I sincerely doubt that. It was four on one, I was hurt, and you gotta admit, you like me better.” 

“Your attitude is intact.” Bruce says, the statement just cryptic enough to give Jason a chance to admit it’s him under that helmet. 

The Hood gives him a long look and Bruce can almost see the wheels turning in his head. “You would know.” 

Bruce can’t take it anymore. 

“Jason.” 

The Hood’s head turns towards Bruce almost without his permission, the action so instinctive he doesn’t even realize that it’s happened until it’s too late. Bruce places a hand on his shoulder, moving it down towards his elbow. 

“_You’ve gotten so big.” _

The statement stops him right when he’s going to move away. “I-” 

Bruce feels almost sick. The last time he held Jason, his son, he was so small and so broken. There wasn’t a breath in his chest or anger in his frame. His edges weren’t so sharp then. 

“I tried not to believe it.” 

Jason stiffens at that, jerking away from Bruce’s hand. “Why? Because you didn’t want to think that I was killing people? That I was disappointing you? Breaking your rules?” 

_Rules? _

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I decapitated a couple of people.” 

Bruce tilts his head, lifting a hand and then dropping it again. “Is it really you under there?” 

It takes a second, but Jason moves to remove his helmet. The action is slow and measured, clearly not something he expected to have to do. 

He’s older. Any of the softness in his face that there was is gone, replaced by the hard line of his jaw. The mischief in his eyes might be there, but the mask Jason still wears covers them. 

Bruce’s hand lifts again, this time to Jason’s cheek. The boy – his son – stands stock still as Bruce pulls his cowl down. Bruce smiles, but the way his expression twists is agony for Jason. Bruce doesn’t really understand what he’s doing, but he wraps his arms around Jason’s shoulders. He almost has to reach. 

He buries his face in Jason’s hair. Even though his son is frozen in his place, Bruce softly tells him that it’s okay. It’s all right because he’s safe. It’s all right because he’s alive. 

“Bruce.... Are you _crying_?” 

He doesn’t even hear the question, clutching to Jason more tightly with every passing moment. “_My boy is alive. My baby is alive.” _

“What the hell is this? I just shot someone in the head!” 

Bruce is too busy pressing a paternal kiss into Jason’s hair, quieting him even as he doesn’t say a word. It takes all too long – far, far, far too long – but Jason reciprocates the hug with hesitant hands. He hesitates. Bruce doesn’t know why. 

“I-…. I t-thought you didn’t c-care.” Bruce doesn’t seem to register those words, so Jason tacks something onto the end. “About me, I mean.” 

That stops Bruce cold and he pulls away. “You what?” 

“I was barely gone for six months, and you_ replaced _me!” Jason pushes him away. "The Joker is still alive! That son of a bitch is still walking this earth!"

Bruce flinches. "Jason-"

Jason shakes his head. "No! He murdered me and you let him live! You let him-" He breaks off, turning around and dragging his hands through his hair. "Hasn't he hurt enough of us? Hasn't he taken enough?"

It's like lightning in his heart to feel ashamed for not being able to take a life. "I... I couldn't."

"What, your code is just too perfect to allow for that?"

"No."

Jason wheels back around. "Then what?"

"_How could I?_" Bruce whispers. "How could I use your murder as an excuse to become a murderer myself? How.... How could I shatter myself so completely that I would murder in my child's name? _How many would die because I deemed it right?_"

Jason looks startled, but it doesn't change the dangerous look on his face. "I just meant the Joker. Why didn't you kill _him_? Out of everyone we've ever fought, he's the one who deserves it. He's the one who puts hundreds in the ground every time he escapes!"

"I wanted to." Bruce admits, his voice barely audible until he speaks to his son directly. "Jason, I was going to, but then I realized...." He swallows. "I realized that it wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't change that you were gone, and it was.... _It was all my fault."_

For the first time, Jason makes a move as if to comfort Bruce, but he stops himself. "Why not do it to spare others? Why not do it for everyone you could save in the future?"

The look on Bruce's face is grim, but also sad. "Who would I be if I let myself fall?"

Jason's brow furrows. "I don't know."

"That's exactly why, Jason." At his confused look, Bruce takes a deep breath to bolster his resolve. He has to explain himself, and he has to do it now if he ever wants his son to come home. "I don't know who I'd be either, but I do know I could never be a father to any of you if I did."

He seems to consider it, but clearly Bruce has made more mistakes than he thought. “What about when you gave the mantle to another little kid who was too naïve to understand?! You threw away the memory of me like I didn’t even matter!” 

“You think I wanted to make him Robin?” 

Jason’s brow lowers. “Even if you didn’t, you still went and pulled another black-haired blue-eyed kid back to the manor like we were nothing but a collection to you!” 

“I didn’t! He needed family because his own didn't care, Jason! He was following us around, had evidence of everything we were doing! He was going to turn all of us in if I didn’t! I didn’t take him in to hurt you! I did it because....” He trails off. 

“_Because what?_” Jason whispers. 

“Because....” Bruce wipes under his eyes to hide building tears. “Because I wanted to protect the people I had left. You _died! _My son died, and Tim.... Tim knew I was going to destroy myself, and so he did what he had to do. If I didn’t take him on as Robin, he would have gone to the GCPD. And your memory.... Your _memory_? It wouldn’t have been yours or mine anymore. All of Gotham would have known and... a-and I was....” Bruce swallows. “I was _selfish.” _

Bruce steps forwards, continuing even as Jason takes a step back. He gently touches Jason’s face, realizing that there is softness there, he just has to look. He can't believe his son is standing there in front of him, almost grown as if Bruce had missed some important part of his life.

“Just because I took Tim in _didn’t _mean I loved you any less, just like taking you in didn’t mean I loved Richard less. You’re all my children, Jason.” 

Jason leans into his hand, just a tiny bit, but he does. Jason's tone is light, but fluttery when he speaks. “You... forgot to mention that Gotham would have been defenseless without vigilantes to protect it.” 

Bruce curls gentle fingers around Jason jaw, smiling sadly at him with tears streaming down his cheeks. “_None of it mattered.” _

His son clenches his jaw and glances away, trying not cry. 

Bruce takes Jason’s face in both hands, tipping his head down and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Come home, sweetheart.” 

Jason looks up at him, his expression hopeful and anguished all at the same time. He stares at Bruce, his blue-green eyes searching for something in him. Ever-searching. Ever-watching. “I-I can count the... the number of times you’ve called me that on one hand.” 

Bruce cards his fingers through Jason’s hair, quieting him. “I can fix that.” 

The hope on his face fades, but doesn’t diminish. “Bruce, I-I'm killing people. I’m not going to stop, I’ll tell you that right now. There is too much started and too much at stake for me to end this.” 

Bruce glances around, but something in his resolve is settled further. 

A broken sob drops from Jason’s mouth. “_I’m not the same person I was, Bruce. I-I don’t- _” 

Bruce shushes him, enveloping him in the warmest embrace he’s given in years. “_My baby. I’ll take you any way that you're able to give._” 


End file.
